Our Family’s Aliyah: A Video Diary

Answering the perplexing question: Why we moved to Israel.

When you're a tourist in Israel, every cab driver, bellhop and tour guide asks you, "Why are you still living in the Diaspora? Why not live here, in the Jewish state?" Absolutely no defense deters them, not even "I have to take care of my 99-year-old Granny" or "my multi-million dollar contract stipulates that I live in New York."

You belong here, they insist. "Bring Grandma, she'll love it," they counter, "and our economy is stronger than in the US; you'll do even better here."

So you "make aliyah," take the plunge to emigrate, and Israelis you meet say, "You came to live here? From America? Why?" The clear implication: "Are you nuts?"

So why would a couple that has "everything" – a terrific community in the States; great schools for their five children; a solid income; a beautiful suburban home with loads of grass to mow; friends, family – why would they cram all they own into a 40-foot lift and move into a place less than half the size in a parched town aptly named Beit Shemesh – the House of the Sun? I now think of it as House of the Burning Sun where air conditioners better work or you're fried.

When I announced our intention to move to Israel, it felt good to finally tell everyone what had been on our minds and in our hearts for many years. I felt a little trepidation, yes, but overall Hubby and I were full of hope and optimism. In fact, shortly after we made The Decision, I came up with the idea for an online series that would chronicle each phase of our aliyah experience. It turned into 10 episodes, which I'll intersperse as my story continues. Though they are only capsules of what we experienced, they do a good job of conveying the process, the emotions and the unexpected moments.

I've spoken to large crowds before, done live TV and all, but I was never so nervous as when I broke that news. Afterwards, we busied ourselves with the practical nuts and bolts of actually moving our tribe abroad.

The first defining experience of aliyah, the event that gives you an inkling of whether or not you've got what it takes, is "the lift." When that truck pulls up to your door, the surreal becomes real. This is the tipping point – no turning back now. You've spent weeks getting rid of things, forced to choose between "need" and "want," "like" and "love" – which is cathartic, in a sense. Do you travel through life laden with useless junk? Do you really need all that stuff?

Besides the limitations of the container that will transport our things, there's the reality that our next home will be Lilliputian compared to our present one. So we had a tag sale for the neighborhood, a give-away for close friends and family, and we donated a ton of items to charities. It's harder to part with things than you would imagine. Remember when we threw that big Geller family Chanukah party and this gigantic punchbowl dominated the buffet? No room for it now. Remember that charming English tea service we got for our wedding – and never used? We'll probably never use it; might as well give it away.

So the lift arrives along with a few burly guys who do this night and day. They immediately get down to the wrapping, taping and loading of the items you deem precious enough to take along. Somehow the lift marks the end and the beginning, all at the same time.

It was all over around 2:00 AM when the container was driven away with all our stuff, and we had the uncertain sense that we may not see it again for a long, long time. (What if it's not delivered in six weeks, as promised? What if it's not delivered ever?) In the dead of night, as our children curled up in sleeping bags on the floor of our empty house, Hubby and I went outside, stared up at the stars, looked each other, and just took in the gravity of the moment.

For the next six weeks, we lived on whatever can fit into the two-bags-plus-one-carry-on-per-person allotted by El Al on the aliyah flight. It ain't much.

Emotional Departure

We discovered that parting with furniture and knick-knacks is nothing compared to leaving folks we love. And we never realized how many people had become deeply entwined in our lives till now.

With Nefesh B'Nefesh (the agency that helps people make this huge jump of immigrating to Israel) we hosted our own goodbye BBQ. Nearly 100 of our friends, family and neighbors came to our Open House party (really “open” – it was empty!). Didn't do a blue and white theme, as everyone expected, either. I went with a sunny gerbera daisy/sunflower yellow theme and accented by dressing in blue. It felt good to know that I was focusing on the really important things just one week before the big day.

So all was happy and bright – the emotional departure put on hold for one glorious day – while we partied. But we knew that eventually we would have to face up to actually leaving these wonderful people (despite all the tearful pledges of trans-Atlantic visits). Our last 24 hours in NY arrived. We busied ourselves with last minute prep: empty out the house and the fridge; pack the bags; do a few errands; count out diapers, formula, snacks, activities and kids' games for the trip. It was so very intense.

This felt bigger than anything I had done in my life. This move was final and would have so many ramifications, for us and our children. Adrenaline courses through your veins, pushing you along. You think you're too busy to cry, but then waterworks start without notice at the most random and inopportune moments.

Minutes before pulling away in the car, we had to say all the goodbyes we had been avoiding. Clinging to my mother at the airport, my soul hurt, my heart ached, my body didn't want to let go. My daughter was crying, hugging me, hugging her Grandma; somebody was yelling that it's time to go and my brain kept saying, "I'm leaving her… I'm leaving her alone… I love her… I miss her already… I'm taking her grandchildren away… I'm sorry, so sorry…"

Any flight from the US to Israel is exhausting, and this one was no exception. But on this flight everyone was making aliyah and the energy level was so high there was a tangible electricity in the air. Each one of us had made a conscious decision to move "home" and we bonded like long-lost brothers, despite external differences. We were young, old, single, married, religious, non-religious. We met a newlywed couple – 80+ years old – who had hooked up on Jdate and were fulfilling their lifelong dreams. Our commonalities pulled us together as family. And it reminded me of something I once heard… we are all more alike than we are different. When my nerves could no longer handle my crying baby, a kind gentleman paced up and down the aisle with her till she fell asleep on his shoulder. (Not to make excuses, but I was on overload not only from the move and months of working overtime, but also because I was a juggling a book deadline, a major Joy of Kosher business/magazine merge, and, of course, directing, producing and editing these aliyah videos right there on the plane.)

Family Reunion

Then we landed. All of the planning, every agonizing decision, every doubt melted away as we were seeing Israel for the first time as our actual not theoretical homeland. Hubby and I looked at each other and our eyes said, "We did it." In that one instant, our whole world – our entire existence – made sense.

We had come home to the land of our forefathers, the Promised Land, the land that our great-grandparents and ancestors had seen only in their dreams. Tradition tells us that our Matriarch Rachel cries for her children to return. Now we were here, really here, and not only us – for we brought the future with us: our children and generations that we know will follow. The plane door was thrown open and light flooded inside. We felt the sun streaming in – the sun of the Land of Israel – and we were gripped by a deep sense of spirituality. I'm thinking, "Home. Mama Rachel, we've come home." And we could almost feel her embrace.

Descending the stairs to the tarmac, I think we were all in a confusing daze. You don't know what to think about first. Despite the flashing cameras, people cried and kissed the ground – an ancient gesture of love for the Holy Land. At the same time, you're thinking about your kids, rounding up all your bags, everyone around you is bursting with emotion. We were led down a path, past hundreds of cheering Israelis, friends, relatives, people who had gotten up at 4 a.m. just to greet us.

A band played, someone blew a huge shofar, and there were screams and tears everywhere as relatives reunited, with flags, flowers and gifts in hand. Hugs, hugs and more hugs. My cousins, my sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews – had been waiting for us since before dawn. "Did you think we would ever come?" I wailed to my sister-in-law through my tears. "No!" she answered, candidly, "But the guys never lost faith." It was true, my husband and his brother always knew in their hearts that we were going to make it.

Total chaos. Through a haze of noise and exhaustion (my 2-year-old was crying the entire time) we tried to focus on the aliyah ceremony – our aliyah ceremony which had been the capstone of many a daydream – trying to look dignified as Prime Minister Netanyahu greeted us, the newest "olim" – Jews who had come to take their places as citizens of Israel. But I felt numb. This is the homestretch, I told myself, don't collapse now. All those people who came to hug us, strangers and friends, want to see bubbly, excited olim. I tried to smile, to put together a coherent sentence or two, but I was fading fast.

Then it was time to file out, get our luggage, get a taxi, take all the kids to the bathroom, lose a bag, lose a taxi driver… I wanted to drink in every inch of the ride to our new home, but I fell asleep almost instantly. I was awakened as we passed a sign that said Welcome to Ramat Beit Shemesh. We were home.

Hubby had rented our house praying that it would suffice, that we would be able to manage in a place half the size of our previous home. We explored each room amidst a riotous mix of relatives, with more than a dozen children trailing along. Our furniture, of course, was on the high seas, but they provided us with a few borrowed things, scattered here and there.

"Welcome to my home" I kept saying, but I was walking around in some kind of dream. The whole thing was so crazy. Okay, the place is small BUT (and this is huge) I was completely taken by the views of the gorgeous Israeli landscape from our windows. Three months later, I'm still captivated by those views, and I thank God for the healing, calming effect they have on me, every time.

Supermarket Training

Making aliyah brings new meaning to the word “exhausting.” The first two weeks felt like one long day interspersed with little naps: We set up our bank accounts, got our teudot zehut (Israeli ID cards), bought a car, then rented a car until our new one arrived, arranged for health insurance, got the kids into school. And then we waited for our lift. And tried to learn Hebrew. And waited for our lift. And tried to adjust to the culture shock. And waited for our lift.

So are we crazy? Could be. Once we got past the first few weeks, we thought we had triumphed. We had been warned there would be challenges, and we thought we were ready. Ready for the big stuff – plopping our sweet, trusting kids into a country that's always at the brink of war; miles of bureaucratic red tape; struggling with the economy and mastering tongue-twisting Hebrew.

Turns out, those are the low hurdles. We don't think about war – we leave that up to God. Maybe I'm fatalistic, but I figure that if, God forbid, we were destined for something, it would take place anywhere in the world.

The paperwork is a pain, but we were so prepared, we went into it like a star Army quarterback tackling the entire Navy team.

And the language? Well, though I know it's just a matter of time till I can speak fluently, I still dread going to the supermarket where translating the labels give me a headache. I'm liable to pour machine oil into my skillet with the burgers. In fact, NONE of my food is coming out as I plan, since most of the ingredients are what we call "mystery food," despite the fact that Hubby and I use the translator app on our iPhones. My little daughter calls it a calculator. When she sees us struggling to read the package at the store, she implores, "The calculator, Abba, use the calculator."

When we first arrived, we saw signs for a supermarket tour. I was thinking, oh so smugly, "What am I, a tourist? I can figure it out. We're not talking about the Tower of David. It's just a store." Now I'm frantically searching for that supermarket tour guide's number. Anyone out there have it?

We were still living like gypsies, wondering if we'd ever feel at home, when the lift finally came. Hear me? I said, THE LIFT CAME! What relief! What excitement! What a heck of a job.

It took a few weeks, but we got through all the boxes and I made sure to hang up our family pictures on the wall ASAP. That's what makes a house feel like a home, when you're surrounded by your own familiar things.

But I still cry. A lot. And I'm trying to figure out why. I think it's the stress of it all. I've been on overload since months before aliyah and there's no end in sight. I have to confess here: My "problems" make me feel like a spoiled American, and I feel powerless to change that.

Do I lack pioneering spirit? No. But was I ready to deal with an air conditioner that suddenly floods the house? Again, no. You'd think that in a country that treats water like gold, every air conditioner would hum along flawlessly. You don't expect it to cause rain – yes, I said rain – in your apartment. So one morning, we awoke to find the place flooded. One of our oil paintings was water-stained. Our beautiful Ralph Lauren wood buffet that we had schlepped from the States was under water. It holds a lot of my china, serving pieces, cutlery and my wedding album. It's where I light my Shabbat candles every week. The candles were soaked, my prized china soup bowls were filled with AC liquid.

I thought okay, okay, we can dry this, we can handle this, we can get the picture re-matted. But then I saw the box with our wedding album, sopping wet, and my lips quivered, my voice shook, my eyes misted. Hubby slowly opened the box and finally announced that the album was safe and dry inside – but I finally broke down. It's silly, I feel silly – it's nothing, but really it's everything.

Temperamental Stove

There are lots of ways to deal with challenges, and Hubby says it's a question of attitude. Without going into deep philosophy here, he invoked the cliché that you can view the glass as half empty or half full.

I hate clichés.

One of our most frustrating experiences is paying the bills. I mean, they're in HEBREW. Totally in Hebrew. You've got to know who you're paying, for what, and when to pay. And those are still deep mysteries to Hubby. So after laboring over the bills with his trusty dictionary and every translator app, he swallows his manly pride and calls his brother to come over and explain these invoices to him. It's a bitter, bitter moment. Of course, I sweetly remind him that it's all just a matter of attitude. "The glass is half full" I call over my shoulder, as he chases me from the room.

I think about my immigrant grandparents saying. "Jamie, it could have been voirse, much voirse…" In fact, everything in my life could have been, well, like my Israeli stove. Remember that I write cookbooks. Remember that my reputation is built on serving good food, fast. And imagine what it's like to go from a superstar kitchen, with all the latest American appliances, to an old freestanding Israeli tiny oven/stovetop thingy with only three working burners. Sorta working. Kinda slow. I calculate it'll take an hour and a half to cook one of my "Quick & Kosher" 20-minute meals on this thing. By then, the kids will be starved, I'll be cranky, and Hubby's glass will be half empty.

Hubby suggested that maybe this is just the way appliances work over here, but I insisted that the stove must be broken. So I called in Dror, the oven repair dude. After poking and tapping and unscrewing various parts of the stove, Dror announces "At tzodeket – you're right." I was right, right! As I woman, I felt I had been heard; as an oleh, I felt savvy and vindicated; as a cook I felt hopeless. But Dror tinkered a bit more and declared the Thing fixed.

The stove breaks down again, and so do I.

We threw a party, a modest little BBQ for 25 people. And right in the middle of it, with a ton of stuff half-cooked, the Thing breaks down again. And so do I. We summon Dror, and once again he waves his magic wand and gets the Thing to sputter and start. After a few similar frantic experiences, I decide that either we have to adopt Dror, or shop for a new stove.

I'm shopping. Though it's over-budget, I'm looking forward to a brand new top-of-the-line stove (wherever the line is). But first I have to learn the lingo, or take an interpreter with me to the store so I don't wind up ordering a European washing machine by mistake.

So I guess that's one of our major obstacles: finding it hard to do everyday things that we never even had to think about in the past. Like reading notes from our kids' schoolteachers. (Is she saying that our daughter is brilliant and adorable, or do we need to come in to talk over a problem?) When we help the kids with their homework, we pray that we're not adding to their troubles.

And we're not sure what to teach the kids about social niceties. Here, there are none. In the US, we always told them to stand patiently in line, allow people to go ahead of you, be polite in the elevator, let others go first. But here there are no lines – pushing, reaching, shoving is the norm and elevator etiquette is out the window. Though it's rude, somehow there's also a sort of down-home warmth in it. Why stand on ceremony when you're all family?

Formalities seem kind of superficial in a country that is always fighting for its life. The real values – reaching out to someone in need, understanding when a stranger on the bus needs to unload a heavy heart, going out of your way to help a child find his way home – that level of caring is so natural and vibrant here, that the other stuff doesn't seem to count as much. Yet we so want each of our children to grow up to be a "mensch," a polite, gracious person, that we can't bring ourselves to counsel them to "use your elbows" at every turn. This is a cultural problem we still need to work out.

So the reality is that moving to Israel is a life-changing experience with a tough adjustment to a new place and foreign culture. Despite all that, we know in our guts it was a sane decision.

Pull of the Homeland

People ask: WHY? I speak all over the world about my life; about how and why I went from being a non-kosher, non-religious TV producer to a wig-wearing Orthodox kosher cookbook author. I lay my life on the table, explaining coherently how I made this choice to become a "BT," a baalas teshuvah "returnee" to religious Judaism (though I had never been there before). The BT movement (which started a good 40 years ago) has exploded in the last 20 years, and now we have an entire generation of BT parents raising kids who were born into a religious lifestyle. What does my change of lifestyle have to do with aliyah? Everything.

Making choices empowers you. BTs seem to have an inherent desire to change and grow, and not fear change and growth. (We don't have a monopoly on those characteristics, of course.) For us, aliyah seemed like the next logical step in our spiritual development. There are many reasons, both superficial and deep, but I can sum it up simply: I am descended from Abraham and Sarah. I am a Jew. Israel is the homeland of the Jewish people, and I wanted to go home.

I believe that no matter where we are, we all have a desire in our soul to return to our Source, our Maker, our home. The word "home" means a sense of belonging and tranquility when you're there, and you feel the pull to return there when you're not. For us, it was an intrinsic, undeniable, mind, body, and soul pull to the homeland of the Jewish people.

Although that need was deep within me long ago, my studies of Judaism have put those longings in sharper relief. The Land of Israel is central in the Torah – the history of our people living in this land, later exiled, and the Divine promise we will someday return. I learned to face Jerusalem when I pray. I comfort mourners with the traditional blessing that they will find solace "among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem." Israel is the place that speaks the language of our prayers and holy books, the place where my brothers and sisters have gathered after a 2,000-year painful exile. Why shouldn't I be among them?

Now that I'm here, I cry a lot, but most of the time, they're tears of joy. When words fail, you cry. It comes from deep within your soul. When my family is gathered around our table on Shabbat, and I look out to see the tree-covered hills of the Land of Israel right outside my window, I cry. When my kids sing the "Grace after Meals" in Hebrew together, already mimicking their teachers and classmates with their new Israeli accents, I cry. When I run my hands over the exterior stone of my house, that uniquely indigenous cream colored "Jerusalem stone" that turns golden at dusk, my heart skips a beat.

"Mommy's crying again," my kids say, "because she's happy."

This is what we call living the dream. In this finale video you will see us take our children to the Western Wall, remnant of the Temple Mount that stood at the time of the Second Holy Temple. Its very stones have been drenched with the tears of pain, gratitude, hope and fears of millions of Jews who have come here to pray for thousands of years.

Most of them have been sojourners, visitors to the Holy Land. But we live here. We're here to stay, and we want to savor all of the sights and sounds of our the land promised to our forefathers as the destined homeland of the entire nation of Israel. We want to share that with our children, and with you.

About the Author

Jamie Geller is the only best-selling cookbook author who wants to get you out of the kitchen – not because she doesn’t love food – but because she has tons to do. As “The Bride Who Knew Nothing” Jamie found her niche specializing in fast, fresh, family recipes. Now the "Queen of Kosher" (CBS) and the "Jewish Rachael Ray" (New York Times), she's the creative force behind JOYofKOSHER.com and "JOY of KOSHER with Jamie Geller" magazine. Jamie and her hubby live in Israel with their six super kids who give her plenty of reasons to get out of the kitchen - quickly. Check out her new book, JOY of KOSHER Fast, Fresh Family Recipes.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 41

(25)
suzi,
January 14, 2014 6:00 PM

THE JOY OF COMING HOME TO ISRAEL

Jamie and family are brave and dedicated. I read every word, listened, heard, all on videos. This was a wonderful experience for me, almost like being with them.

I actually laughed, smiled, and cried, it was thrilling. Thank you for sharing, this meant very much to me.

An uplifting, and yet bitter sweet story, which will only get sweeter with each day.

Toda Rabah and Mazel Tov always

(24)
Lisa,
April 11, 2013 2:33 PM

How lucky you are!!

No it's not easy....but y'all did it... Yes it's hard....just please dont be the one to say move, "we did it ...so can you." No, we all can't....either we have elderly parents that need us, we don't have the funds....or many other valid reasons!!Just enjoy every second!!

(23)
Robert MacPherson,
December 6, 2012 10:54 AM

Congatulations

Congratulations, for making your Aliya, I am STILL TRYING to get a freind to make his, with his wife.
But enough of them, I really do take my hat of to you and yours, and I really do know it will get a whole lot better, very soon, so, Shalom. Robert

(22)
Shira,
December 6, 2012 7:20 AM

Israeli Cookbook?

Welcome to Eretz Yisrael. We moved here two years ago as a newlywed couple, so some things were the same for us (red tape), and others were very different (no kids, no lift...). I'm sure that on top of your own insight, you are also getting a lot of advice. So feel free to ignore this. A problem that I often see in RBS is that the parents find like minded friends and are happy, but their kids end up less religious than they would have liked. One contributing factor is that American style Orthodoxy is more moderate than Israeli Chareidi-ism, but more strict than Mizrachi - the Israeli equivalent of MO. (Yes, I know there are exceptions, please don't jump on me.) The Israeli school system doesn't really cater to American style middle of the road Orthodoxy, so as a rule you won't find kids who grow up here at that religious level. Therefore, instead of trying to cultivate and import American Orthodoxy for your kids, in the long run they'll be better off if you identify with an Israeli style of Orthodoxy, conform to their standards, and educate your kids in their schools. Pick this Israeli group not by how easily you identify with the adults, but by how pleased you are with how their kids turn out. On a lighter note, once you get your feet under you, would you consider writing a cookbook, or even better, some Aish articles, geared for those living in Eretz Yisrael? I.e., recipes that use ingredients that are readily available here for good prices? And by the way, I'm planning on making your chocolate cake from "The Bride Who Knew Nothing" for this Shabbos...if my eggs get delivered. I wish you and your family the best in all things both big and small.

(21)
Anonymous,
December 5, 2012 10:10 PM

Count your blessings

Hi Jamie. Thanks for your artice and videos - I definitely cried at parts. I hope you realize how lucky you are. When I made Aliya about 12 years ago, there was no NBN, no one greeting me at the airport. I came alone, single, with no job, and not yet even sure where I'd live. The was no sal klita for North Amercian's back then...I had to go do everything on my own...wait 5 hours in Misrad Hapnim for my T.Z. (where I was aaked why I'd even wanted to move here!), get to a bank and try to figure out how things work, health plan, etc, with no NBN to answer any of my questions. And the government agencies kept going on strike that entire year. Yes, Aliya is hard. But you came with your family, to a really nice house - and big, for Israeli standards. When you get overwhelmed, at least you have your husband to turn to, and others, who are going through simiar experiences. I had no huge celebrations at the airport, no T.Z. waiting for me, and going through it alone was incredibly hard. As hard as all of this is for you, I hope you remember to count your blessings, because, with all of the difficulties, you have a lot to be grateful for.
Behatzlacha to you and your family. From experience, the first year is the hardest, but it does get easier after that. So don't give up. I wish you all the best.

(20)
Joel F Peres,
December 5, 2012 7:30 PM

What a beautiful story

Mozel Tov, perhaps my Wife, Son and I will follow one day.
:)

(19)
Yehudit R,
December 5, 2012 6:52 PM

It's so familiar...

We made aliyah about a month before you did, so your story is very familiar, from crying at the airport to serving mystery food (I still haven't figured out how to tell if I'm buying real chocolate or chocolate-flavored chips). And when I stare at a bill, I have to remind myself that I am a competent professional with a graduate degree and 20 year career, but it doesn't help--I dissolve in tears when I realize I can't tell if this is one of the bills that is paid automatically through our bank or if I have to go to the post office to pay it. My ulpan teacher says in a week or two we study bills, and I'm looking forward to that class.
And I still cry whenever I'm in a group and we sing Hatikva.

(18)
Talia,
December 4, 2012 11:30 PM

Libi Bamizrach

I watch your videos over and over again, and cry every time. You are an inspiration. Eretz Yisrael is where every Jew should be. You and your husband have a great attitude and amazing idealism! Your kids are lucky to have parents who are such role models! We hope to follow your lead soon. You are OUTSTANDING!

(17)
Shulamit,
December 4, 2012 7:59 PM

can totally relate ...

As a new oleh to RBS (one year ago), I felt some of the hardest adjustments were small things (often related to supermarkets!). At the risk of overdramatizing, for me, the change was somewhat traumatic and the things left behind needed to be mourned (as in the 7 steps of grieving) before I could come to acceptance. I am happy to report that a year later, I am actually happy with my local makolet, which had induced several crying sessions during my first few months here!
I am happy to hear you are getting a new oven! We did the exact same thing.
Hatzlacha to you! Everything will get easier and be great. The lifestyle here is so nice.

(16)
yehudit,
December 4, 2012 7:42 AM

Continued from previous....

I have now been in Israel for 18 years after arriving single: 6 children and 15 years of marriage later, I have only now started recently to feel the pull "back": back to manners, grandparents, cleanliness, a rich and varied religious education with a healthy mix of sports and arts..... But then I remind myself: G-d gave us Israel - not Australia , or anywhere else. So it must be the best place for us, even when it doesn't feel like it! This simple thought is what strengthens us the most (my husband is Swiss: there's manners and cleanliness!!!!) when we feel there is more to offer our children: NO! This is what G-d offered his children, so I will do the same.
Blessing you, the brave Geller family with all the strength and humor in the world to deal with life in the Holy Land!

Miriam,
December 5, 2012 6:03 PM

It's not as great in America as you might think!

My friend lives in Passaic where her kids get all the "arts and sports" you dream of: but for a hefty price, 10 grand per kid in tuition! Her husband works very very long hours as a lawyer and she works alot as well! The grass might just always be greener!

(15)
Tracy,
December 4, 2012 6:36 AM

This is my story!!!!

I am in tears reading this because this is exactly my story!! We made Aliyah with our four children almost 5 months ago. We are so happy and I too cry tears of joy all the time!!!! I loved reading this!! This was a great mix of challenges and accomplishments. Thank you!

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 6:00 AM

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

Tracy!!! Mazel Tov on your aliyah. We are in it together, you are not alone - just know that everything you are feeling and going through is normal but the rewards I believe, are far greater than the challenges. With love and greatest wishes for Hatzlacha and Bracha in our new home!

(14)
Batya Herdman,
December 4, 2012 4:47 AM

Loved it

I thank you for that, it makes our choice all the more meaningful!

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 5:57 AM

Thanks Batya

Thank you Batya -- it's nice to know we are together in this

(13)
Anonymous,
December 4, 2012 2:57 AM

role model

Jamie, you are an inspiration and role model. Your sacrifice must have moved the geulah up a couple of years, no doubt. The most poignant clip was when you walked out of your kitchen, and said goodbye. That must have been so had. Your personal Akeda. And then your stove JAMIE GELLER's stove breaks dow. What a test! May hashem repay you a million fold for all your sacrifices and may you merit to raise your beautiful children , and be reunited in israel with the rest of your family. You are truly a role model , teaching what it means to sacrifice,. Thank you for letting the rest of us in to your very personal moments. Although you may not believe this, soon your kids will be talking and fighting with each other in Hebrew!

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 5:58 AM

AMEN AMEN AMEN

Thank you SO very much! To read comments like this brings me such chizuk!

(12)
shimon baum,
December 4, 2012 1:26 AM

Who else is betting that they will be back in the US within 5 years?

(11)
Allan,
December 3, 2012 8:13 PM

we tried, we failed, the reason why?

We made aliyah in 1974 just after the Yom Kippur war. My wife,myself, 4 kids (ages 9 to 13) & Tim (family dog).
We stayed nearly 3 years.
In retrospect, the biggest problem in not settling was with my wife and myself not mixing with Hebrew speakers. We were mixing mainly with other English speaking olim. Those few families who cut themselves off and concentrated on speaking, eating and dreaming in Ivrit -- made it.
If you had no profession and was competing in the business world to make a success, it was imperative to be fluent in Ivrit.
Whether things have changed with regard to this in the 38 years which have passed, I do not know, but it may be worth keeping in mind for a successful aliyah. Kol- Hakovod. Mazel & Borchah.

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 6:03 AM

Thank you for sharing your story

Allan, thank you for sharing you experience and insight with us. It can't speak authoritatively on the subject since I am here just under 4 months...but I so appreciate your insight and do agree that Hebrew is REALLY important -- i am trying my hardest to work on the language and speak it with other Israelis who are just dying yo show off their great English to me :-)

(10)
Anonymous,
December 3, 2012 7:39 PM

The Gellers are in my prayers

I have met many Jews that made Aliyah and decided to return to the US after a while. Mostly because living in Israel is tough. Not because of the threat to existance in Israel, wars, etc. but because it is expensive, crowded, lacks good quality of grade and high school education and people are very rough. Many expected the country to be much more religious and spiritually more advanced just to find out that their children are even more exposed there to depravity, crime and drugs, etc. than in the USA due to the tiny size of the country. Anyone making Aliyah is incredibly brave and hailing from the US even more so. You sound as if you are determined to make it your definitive home. Wonderful! You are used to living a certain way in the USA and now all your paradigms have changed. You are not a spoiled American! We are in the second decade of the XXI century and it is in no way unreasonable to expect house appliances to work perfectly. Israel is the craddle of technology, nuh! mass produce already a washing machine that doesn't take 2 hours to do a load of laundry! I hope you become a changing force in Israel and bring up your children to be polite and considerate. Perhaps politness will catch on there. I hope soon you will be able to purchase a house large enough for your growing family and equip it with a roomy and beautiful kitchen so you can come up with more yummy recipes and write many more cookbooks. I hope you have the financial abundance to hire an interpreter for several months while you master Hebrew. Thank you for making the Aliyah videos. Please keep on writing candidly about your life in Israel. Good health and happiness to you and your family!

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 6:07 AM

What Can I Say?!

AMEN AMEN AMEN!!! What can I say to a comment that is so thoughtful, supportive, beautiful, understanding and filled with such good wishes and bracha?! Thank you Thank you Thank you! We are determined we are fighting we feel blessed even with all the challenges. I so appreciate your taking the time to write me - bracha and hatzlacha to you and your family with everything!

(9)
Ayalah Haas,
December 3, 2012 7:10 PM

A Fellow B.T. Producer/Author Salutes You

Jamie (1st name basis okay?),
MAZAL TOV on your family’s Aliyah. Eretz HaKodesh is the best place in the world!
It is a giant zechus, and an enormous responsibility, that a well-known Jewish lady like you has accepted the bracha of a home in Israel. You are already influencing so many Diaspora Jews who are contemplating Aliyah. May you continue to be an inspiration. Likewise, please I beg you to avoid any criticism about life in Israel and especially Israelis. I disagree with your remark about the absence of “social niceties” among Israelis. In time you will see … some of the most refined, humble, and courteous (!) folks are native Israelis. Chazal tell us a Jew must struggle for Eretz Yisrael, limud Torah, and Olam Haba Life in Israel might not be simple, but I stand with Calev Yehoshua that the Land is habitable and desirable. Rebbetzin Heller personally told me that each Jew will experience shleimut in Israel. Hatzlacha!

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 6:11 AM

Are we twins?

Ayalah its nice to hear the perspective and support of someone with such a seemingly similar professional background. I welcome your disagreement and I look forward to experiencing more of what you describe. Thank you for the comment, brachos and divrei chizulk from Rebbetzin Heller.

(8)
Bracha,
December 3, 2012 6:25 PM

Kol Hakavod

I have been living in Israel for almost 30 years and was so touched by your story you are our heroes coming with small children and starting again
May Hashem bless you all with a beautiful life here thanks for coming so we can all grow together here and keep building Eretz Yisrael

Jamie Geller,
December 5, 2012 6:14 AM

YOU ARE MY HERO

It's funny to me that you are calling us heros, I salute you and everyone like you that came 30!!!!!!! years ago. Now it's much easier to come - on so many levels - from a streamlined bureaucratic process to a country that is more developed and closer to what is familiar to us, no it's not America and I don't need it to be -- but I can only imagine the advancements in the last 30 yrs have made it a significantly softer landing for new olim. YOU ARE OUR HEROES!

(7)
Miriam,
December 3, 2012 5:55 PM

Jamie, tears streaming down my cheeks

Wow! Love the "Grandma" who came along and the yummy little girl in glasses who cries when she says goodbye to her friend! I was crying so hard but it all ends happily in Israel. You so made the right decision and bless you for sharing this. Much success and nachas and spiritual growth!

i told my husband that you responded offering help, he said could you host us for a shabbos meal when we move?! lol. thanks for your support. looking forward to hearing only good things from your family. take care :)

(5)
deena,
December 2, 2012 8:48 PM

wow

You are incredibly brave.. i could not imagine leaving all that you did and moving like you did...wish you loads of hatzlacha, hope things get easier and even happier!

Jamie Geller,
December 3, 2012 11:54 AM

Thank you!

We are no different than the hundred of thousands of others like us that I meet on a daily basis -- there is comfort in numbers - being here in a community where many have gone through the same thing. Thank you SO SO much for your support and well wishes!

Hi Lori, ofcourse we call Handy Randy and Son for everything - Morah Miriam gave us his contact # when we left Monsey and YSV - but they don't do stoves! :-)

(3)
Anonymous,
December 2, 2012 7:15 PM

It's not just us

So glad to read your article. We made aliyah 6 weeks ago. Despite knowing that this is without a doubt the right thing it is still a daily struggle to become used lto ife here. Thank you for writing this.

Jamie Geller,
December 3, 2012 11:50 AM

You are not alone

We are all in the same boat here -- you are not alone. But honestly so much of the rewarding parts of life are not easy -- I didn't finding your soul mate, living with your soul mate, having children, raising children -- all not easy! but we struggle, daven, and make sacrifices to make it work - same with living in Israel

jgarbuz,
December 3, 2012 8:44 PM

Took me ten years

And still couldn't get used to it. You have to be born and bred and be in the army for years to ever get used to it.

(2)
Donna Perel,
December 2, 2012 2:47 PM

Mazel Tov!

I write this with tears streaming down my face. May your lives be filled with bracha, simcha and hatzlacha as you live your dream. Welcome home.

Jamie Geller,
December 3, 2012 11:51 AM

AMEN

AMEN AMEN AMEN thank you so much! for your brachos and for taking the time to write.

(1)
Anonymous,
December 2, 2012 1:21 PM

Hatzlacha Raba!

Loved your article and the videos. Here's wishing you and your family the very best of luck. May you serve as an inspiration to many others.

This year during Chanukah I will be on a wilderness survival trip, and it will be very difficult to properly celebrate the holiday. I certainty won't be able to bring along a Menorah.

So if I am going to celebrate only one day of Chanukah, which is the most significant?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

If a person can only celebrate one day of Chanukah, he should celebrate the first day.

This is similar to a case where a person is in prison, and the authorities agree to permit him to go to synagogue one day. The law is that he should go at the first opportunity, and not wait for a more important day like the High Holidays.

The reason is because one should not allow the opportunity of a mitzvah to pass. Moreover, it is quite conceivable that circumstances will later change and allow for additional observance. Therefore, we do not let the first chance pass. (Sources: Code of Jewish Law OC 90, Mishnah Berurah 28.)

As an important aside, Chanukah candles must be lit in (or at the entrance to) a home rather than out of doors. Thus, you should not light in actual "wilderness," but only after you've pitched your tent for the night.

There may be another reason why the first night is the one to focus on. Chanukah is celebrated for eight days to commemorate the one-day supply of oil that miraculously burned for eight days. But if you think about it, since there was enough oil to burn naturally for one night, nothing miraculous happened on that first night! So why shouldn't Chanukah be just seven days?!

There are many wonderful answers given to this question, highlighting the special aspect of the first day. Here are a few:

1) True, the miracle of the oil did not begin until the second day, and lasted for only seven days. But the Sages designated the first day of Chanukah in commemoration of the miraculous military victory.

2) Having returned to the Temple and found it in shambles, the Jews had no logical reason to think they would find any pure oil. The fact that the Maccabees didn't give up hope, and then actually found any pure oil at all, is in itself a miracle.

3) The Sages chose Chanukah, a festival that revolves around oil's ability to burn, as the time to teach the fundamental truth that even so-called "natural" events take place only because God wants them to.

The Talmudic Sage Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa expressed this truth in explaining a miracle that occurred in his own home. Once, his daughter realized that she had lit the Shabbos candles with vinegar instead of oil. Rabbi Chanina calmed her, saying, "Why are you concerned! The One Who commanded oil to burn, can also command vinegar to burn!" The Talmud goes on to say that those Shabbos lights burned bright for many hours (Taanit 25a).

To drive this truth home, the Sages decreed that Chanukah be observed for eight days: The last seven to commemorate the miracle of the Menorah, and the first to remind us that even the “normal” burning of oil is only in obedience to God's wish.

In closing, I'm not sure what's stopping you from celebrating more than one day? At a minimum, you can light one candle sometime during the evening, and that fulfills the mitzvah of Chanukah - no “official Menorah” necessary. With so much joy to be had, why limit yourself to one night only?!

In 165 BCE, the Maccabees defeated the Greek army and rededicated the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Finding only one jar of pure oil, they lit the Menorah, which miraculously burned for eight days. Also on this day -- 1,100 years earlier -- Moses and the Jewish people completed construction of the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. The Tabernacle was not dedicated, however, for another three months; tradition says that the day of Kislev 25 was then "compensated" centuries later -- when the miracle of Chanukah occurred and the Temple was rededicated. Today, Jews around the world light a Chanukah menorah, to commemorate the miracle of the oil, and its message that continues to illuminate our lives today.

A person who utilizes suffering to arouse himself in spiritual matters will find consolation. He will recognize that even though the suffering was difficult for him, it nevertheless helped him for eternity.

When you see yourself growing spiritually through your suffering, you will even be able to feel joy because of that suffering.

They established these eight days of Chanukah to give thanks and praise to Your great Name(Siddur).

Jewish history is replete with miracles that transcend the miracle of the Menorah. Why is the latter so prominently celebrated while the others are relegated to relative obscurity?

Perhaps the reason is that most other miracles were Divinely initiated; i.e. God intervened to suspend the laws of nature in order to save His people from calamity.

The miracle of the Menorah was something different. Having defeated the Seleucid Greek invaders, the triumphant Jews entered the Sanctuary. There they found that they could light the Menorah for only one day, due to a lack of undefiled oil. Further, they had no chance of replenishing the supply for eight days. They did light the Menorah anyway, reasoning that it was best to do what was within their ability to do and to postpone worrying about the next day until such worry was appropriate. This decision elicited a Divine response and the Menorah stayed lit for that day and for seven more.

This miracle was thus initiated by the Jews themselves, and the incident was set down as a teaching for all future generations: concentrate your efforts on what you can do, and do it! Leave the rest to God.

While even our best and most sincere efforts do not necessarily bring about miracles, the teaching is nevertheless valid. Even the likelihood of failure in the future should not discourage us from any constructive action that we can take now.

Today I shall...

focus my attention on what it is that I can do now, and do it to the best of my ability.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...